


Come to This

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, S&M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oldie sitting around on the El-Jay for a bit but RID 7 made me remember how much I love this huge fucking psychopath.</p></blockquote>





	Come to This

NC-17  
IDW/G1  
Turmoil/Deadlock  
 **warnings** : sticky, noncon, sadomasochism, domination, bloodplay, freaky headcanon about facemasked mechs  
For [](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/profile)[**tf_rare_pairing**](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/)   monthly challenge, this pairing, the song 'Breath' by Breaking Benjamin  
  
A/N: [](http://ravynfyre.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ravynfyre**](http://ravynfyre.livejournal.com/)  suggested that [this event ](http://tfwiki.net/w2/images2/0/09/Turmoil_pinned_by_Drift.jpg)in Spotlight: Drift was retribution for...something.  Here's, uh, something. 

 

“I regret,” Turmoil’s voice rumbled in Deadlock’s audio, “that it has come to this, Deadlock.”

Deadlock turned his blindered face, trying to gauge Turmoil’s location.His mood, Deadlock already knew—that bitter amusement that characterized his usual attitude toward Deadlock.

Deadlock felt a press of an EM field at his shoulder.He whipped his head over. “Don’t scare me, Turmoil.” He kept his hands still, on his thighs, just to show how little threat he thought Turmoil was.

“That,” Turmoil said, and something like regret flooded his voice, “is apparent. If you feared me you wouldn’t defy me so…blatantly.” As though his objection were more to the openness than the defiance. “But we are endeavoring to change that.”A hand slicked over Deadlock’s shoulder, possessive, as if it had a right.

“You’re too cautious,” Deadlock challenged.

“You’ve made your thoughts on the matter abundantly clear, Deadlock.”The hand moved away.Turmoil moved, closing in enough that Deadlock could feel the cold brush of his modified EM field.Deliberate.

“I won.I brought you a victory.”

“Victory.”The EM field buzzed down Deadlock’s front.Hands hauled him to his feet.“And that excuses everything.”

“It should.”

“And if you’d lost?”

Deadlock tilted his blind optics up, defiantly, to where he knew Turmoil’s face would be. “I don’t lose.”

“Then how do you explain…this?” A tweak at his helm, almost playful. “Your own mechs subdued you, Deadlock.”

“Says something about the quality of troops you give me to work with. Amazing I can win anything with them.”

Turmoil laughed—an ugly, dangerous sound.“Irrepressible,” he said.“I’ll give you that much, Deadlock.But.”And Deadlock felt a strange push as Turmoil lunged in, his voice velvet harsh in Deadlock’s right audio pickup. “You need to learn a little respect.”

“No,” Deadlock countered.“You need to learn what to respect.Success, strengkkkk--!”Deadlock found himself swept backward, slammed against the bulkhead.He tried to tuck his head, bracing for impact.

“You respect strength?” Turmoil said, his voice mild, a sharp contrast the force he’d used.

Deadlock’s fists balled. He knew what was behind him. Which limited the directions from which Turmoil could attack him.He raised his arms in a ready guard.Bring it. Blind, I may be, but not defenseless, he thought.

Turmoil laughed.“Defiant to the last, are you?”

“This isn’t the last,” Deadlock snapped, whipping his head to the noise.

“You’re right, there,” Turmoil purred. “This is just the beginning.”

Deadlock’s turn to laugh. “Always so nimble with words, Turmoil.But words don’t get results.”

“I’ve noticed.”A sound Deadlock couldn’t place—metal, rolling over something else, then the thunk of something magnetizing.Turmoil could move silently when he wanted: this was deliberate, letting him hear, wanting him to guess. Deadlock tightened his crouch.

Turmoil came at him fast, a hard hand grabbing his leading wrist, hauling him away from the wall, whip-leveraging him across the room.Deadlock fought for balance, crashing face first into the wall, with a sharp shock.

Turmoil spun him around, hand releasing his wrist, going for the throat, his broad fingers like bands of iron under Deadlock’s chin. “Time,” Turmoil hissed, and this time there was no sensual amusement in his voice, “to get results.”

He lifted.Deadlock’s head snapped up, straining at the top of his cervical cabling, the fingers squeezing into the energon lines. His hands came up, tearing at Turmoil’s hand as the larger mech continued to lift, raising Deadlock off the ground, his back kibble screeching and sparking against the wall.

Deadlock kicked out, wildly, with his legs, but without stabilization, and unable to aim, they thudded uselessly off Turmoil’s heavy chassis.

And then.

Pain, red and black, lancing through his left shoulder, driving in hard and fast.He could feel an energon line rupture, a broken circuit casting sparks down his arm’s systems, scorching the energon, melting the rubberene hose. Another sudden jerk, as…whatever it was sank into the wall behind him.

Vision returned abruptly, a white mass of light pixellating down swiftly into Turmoil’s face, close to his, Turmoil’s hand removing the visual inhibitor.Deadlock snarled, struggling, his arm pinned to the wall. His optics flicked over—a spike, long as he was tall. Some kind of spiral-twisted metal spike shoved through him, a groove winding around it in a trail of blue purple energon.

He glared back to Turmoil—the sneer of satisfaction visible on the visor, the other hand still crushing hard at his throat.He swore, pushing the words out with effort, refusing to give Turmoil the satisfaction of his fear, his pain.

Turmoil tilted his head. “More?”

Deadlock swore again, swinging his fists at Turmoil’s head, but the mech’s longer reach made his blows ineffectual. Every advantage Turmoil had against him—size, reach, power—he was using ruthlessly against Deadlock.

Turmoil nodded, as though that were an answer. And in a way it was. “More,” he said.He reached to his thigh, where he’d magnetized another of the forged metal bars.He shifted his grip, releasing Deadlock’s throat, pinning his right shoulder under splayed fingers.“You can watch, this time,” Turmoil invited.

Deadlock…did not have a choice.And Turmoil played with him, drew it out, laying the spike’s shine-sharpened tip first one place, then another, probing at the gaps in the armor, feeling Deadlock stiffen and twist under his grip.

Then, he pushed. Slowly, letting the metal bite into the first layer of armor, searing the sensor-nodes with agony, the pain seeming to spread through Deadlock’s entire frame, rippling against the hot waves from the other stake, his shoulder ablaze with pain.Turmoil caught Deadlock’s gaze, his own vents beginning to pick up in excitement, warm air puffing against Deadlock’s frame as Turmoil pushed in, twisting the spike in his hand, drilling it in, leaning the back end against his chassis armor for leverage.Deadlock could feel the spike eat through him, a blazing shock of pain, a comet with a long glowing tail of agony.

Turmoil gave a final shove with his chassis, the spike’s dulled end scratching his own armor as he sank the spike into wall.

He stepped back, releasing his grip, letting Deadlock’s entire weight fall onto the spikes through his shoulders, admiring his handiwork.Deadlock writhed in spite of himself, hands clutching at the spikes, one, then the other, trying to shift them, but the downward force of his own weight had locked them in, catching on the spiral forging. His hand slipped in the energon, which dripped down from the spikes, onto his thighs, his chassis.

He could feel Turmoil’s gaze on him, interested, aroused, and his pain transmuted to rage, fed by his helplessness.“Cute,” he snarled.

“Necessary,” Turmoil countered, but he shifted forward on his feet, twitching.

Deadlock jutted his chin.“So, what now? All you got?”His hands fell, useless, off the spike.Awaiting, he tried to tell himself, a better opportunity.

Turmoil’s supraorbital ridge tilted, before he shook his head.“I do admire your…endurance.”And he twitched again—unusual in a frame of his size, with his usual cold demeanor—before he stepped in, quickly, bowing his head, and Deadlock heard the click of his mouthguard releasing. And then a sudden weighty warmth as Turmoil’s twinned glossae dragged over Deadlock’s armor, lapping at the spill of energon, the two sides slithering like serpents around the spike.Deadlock shuddered, half disgusted, feeling Turmoil press against him, nuzzling into him, his hands ranging over Deadlock’s pinned frame.

Deadlock fought, all four of his limbs striking at Turmoil, feet shoving into the lower chassis, hands clawing at the face.

Turmoil caught his hands, hands clamping over forearms, pulling them away, letting his lower body be pushedaway, out of Deadlock’s range.He caught Deadlock’s gaze, significantly, then turned to lick the stained hands, optics dimming in some feral pleasure at the sweet-sharp taste, glossae winding around Deadlock’s fingers, as though this were a lover’s caress and not a torture, his engines rumbling in a delighted growl. Obscene.Deadlock struck out again with his legs, metal slamming into metal.

Turmoil lifted his head, slowly, half-drowsily, as though intoxicated by the taste of Deadlock’s energon, drunk on the sight of his pain, one tip of a glossa flicking out over his hook-edged mouth.He shook his head, admonishing, hand reaching back for another of the metal bars.

Deadlock thrashed, but he was…helpless to do anything other than kick feebly as Turmoil pinned one ankle to the wall, driving the spike in, this time in a quick, sharp thrust.He pulled a fourth spike from his hip, holding it in his hands for a long moment, contemplating.

He stepped in, bar between his hands.His unmasked face was…no more readable than the mask, and all the more disturbing for the unfamiliarity, the strange configuration of mouthguarded faces, under optics that were all too known. “Results yet, Deadlock?” he asked, the unfamiliar mouth quirking into a wry grin.His voice sounded different, less resonant somehow. Flatter.As though the mouthguard gave him depth.

He pressed the bar against Deadlock’s throat, jamming into his vocalizer. Turmoil’s mouth curled into a vicious grin as Deadlock gasped, feeling the heat from his stressed frame reflecting back from the wall on his back.Turmoil’s cool EM sucked at the heat roiling off his front, pain boiling through his sensornet.His hands clutched, wildly, opening and closing, clawing at…nothing, moving, twisting, in the vain hope that movement would change something, lessen the strain of his weight on his clavicular struts, lesson the agony of his leaking energon systems, the crackling of damaged circuit runs.

Turmoil’s mouth covered his gasping, choking one, and he could taste the sweet burn of his own energon as the glossae pushed into his mouth, invading, taking, the hard spines threatening.Deadlock’s one free leg was pinned by Turmoil’s thigh.The bar fell away, clanging to the ground, and the hands were on him again, groping, feeling the contours of his armor, this time with undisguised lust.Turmoil’s engines rumbled, vibrating pleasure, unwanted, against Deadlock’s frame.

Deadlock bit down.Turmoil moaned against his mouth, a hot fresh well of energon filling the space between them, his hands relentless on Deadlock’s frame, one finger slicking through the trail of falling droplets, down Deadlock’s body, skimming over to his hip then down, pawing roughly at his interface hatch. Deadlock’s bite seemed only to arouse Turmoil—a tactical mistake, for which he paid.

Deadlock screamed, his head slamming back against the wall, tearing free from the parody of the kiss, as Turmoil drove his spike into Deadlock’s valve, rupturing the thin metal of the cover with a savage force. His pain seemed to whip at Turmoil, egging him on, goading him. The larger mech yanked at Deadlock’s unpinned leg, pulling it aside, tilting Deadlock’s hipframe upward by it, as he began driving, hard, fast, brutal, into Deadlock. 

The thrusts jarred Deadlock’s shoulders, setting a syncopated rhythm of pain—the sharp jabs of Turmoil’s spike ramming into him followed by the twin taps of pain from his shoulders, and a stiff jerking agony from his still-pinned ankle, as the thrusts jerked the leg up , tearing at the lower ankle stabilizers. Turmoil’s hooked mouth locked with his, oral spines tearing into Deadlock’s mouth plating, causing him to gasp, surge, struggle up, hands pathetically tearing at Turmoil’s armor, reaching futilely for his throat now pinned by Turmoil’s hand, the compressed systems starving his cortex’s main sensor line. His sensor feed dulling to a throbbing wash, his vid feed blurring to a hazy mash of colors, sounds muddying in his audio, until all he could feel was a hard wall of pain/pleasure and Turmoil’s mouth on his, eager, hungry, devouring, his body a web of fire.

Turmoil hissed—almost a pneumatic sound of releasing pressure, tearing his mouth from Deadlock’s, arching backward as his spike juddered in the valve, flooding Deadlock with his triumphant release. Turmoil hung, savoring, Deadlock impaled upward on his spike, his weight on Turmoil’s pelvic span, hands frozen into claws, until Turmoil released, sagging back downward.

The hard, wild light was gone from his optics, and the mouthguard snapped into place before he dropped his gaze to Deadlock, shifting his hips to yank his spike ungently from Deadlock, releasing a hot rush of transfluid, leaking silver and thin, down Deadlock’s thighs.

Turmoil stepped back, considering Deadlock like an exhibit: some statement or art or something, observing him from various angles, ignoring Deadlock’s flat dull hostility, his head sagging between his pinned shoulders. “Yes,” he said, finally.He leaned in, swiping one hand up Deadlock’s thigh, swirling spilt transfluid and energon, drawing a line down the center of Deadlock’s face, from the gold crest of his rank mark, defacing it, down his nasal plate, over his mouth, and his chin armor.Deadlock looked up, dully, giving Turmoil the pleasure of his loathing and humiliation. Turmoil nodded again. “Yes.”

The larger mech reached over, swiftly, and yanked out the ankle spike. He held it for a moment in front of him, contemplating the fluid smeared end, and Deadlock knew he was debating licking that, as well.Turmoil’s optics clouded, and he flung it behind him, roughly, the metal bar ringing out against the deckplating.He grabbed at the two spikes through Deadlock’s shoulders, and rested there, for a moment, leaning in, hands around the metal bars.His head moved, serpentlike, studying, memorizing Deadlock at his mercy.

Deadlock tried to say, struggled to even think, some defiance like ‘don’t get used to it,’ but he was floating on a high wretched cloud of pain, his reflexes dulled, as though his body was some impossible distance away from him.

Turmoil gave a satisfied grunt, and jerked the spikes back, out of the wall, letting Deadlock teeter and then slide, falling of the back of the spikes as his weight strained even Turmoil’s wrist servos. Deadlock shrieked in spite of himself, weakened hands clutching futilely for the bars, straining the damaged servos.

He fell, heavily, not even able to break his fall, and clung helplessly to the floor, hands grabbing it for stability, comfort, as the pain pushed him into some death race with vertigo.

And from here Turmoil towered over him, his optics level with the spiked plates of Turmoil’s knees.He sagged, ventilations heaving, not caring. “This,” he managed, gasping, “Isn’t over.”

Turmoil squatted swiftly, watching Deadlock recoil as the act of speaking brought the smear of fluid against his glossa, into his mouth.“I should hope not, Deadlock,” he said.“I’d be so…very disappointed.”And he rose, and turned, and was gone, leaving Deadlock broken, seeping energon, smeared with rage and shame.

Deadlock’s optics blazed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oldie sitting around on the El-Jay for a bit but RID 7 made me remember how much I love this huge fucking psychopath.


End file.
